


"Dance" Like It's the Last Night of Your Life

by LibidineTertius



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I Apologize for All the Stupid Things in Young Steve's Head. He'll Learn., Misunderstandings, People Had Sex in the Forties, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, aka: Skinny!Steve, virgin!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibidineTertius/pseuds/LibidineTertius
Summary: Howard finds out that Steve couldn't even have a drink the night before his experiment is probably going to kill the guy. He decides Steve deserves a little fun.





	"Dance" Like It's the Last Night of Your Life

Steve walked along the empty hallway, back toward the room the army had arranged for him to try and rest up. He warmed by Dr. Erskine’s confidence, nervous as hell, and wishing he’d been allowed that drink. Admittedly, it would have been sort of wasted on him anyway; Bucky always teased that Steve was a cheap date, going from sober to vomiting for the price of a three shots of rotgut. Still, Steve couldn’t imagine how he was going to get a damn bit of sleep that night sober. 

In the dim hallway, he almost walked smack into the brilliant scientist fellow they'd brought in. Steve didn’t know Howard Stark from a hole in the wall, but a guy who invented almost-flying cars and strutted on stage in a fine suit with gorgeous chorus girls was pretty neat. Tonight, though, Mr Stark smelled like whiskey and tobacco, and his forearms looked strong where his shirtsleeves were rolled up. “Excuse me,” Steve said, taking in the handsome face, the neat mustache, and the well-cut clothes. Howard Stark was everything he wasn't and Steve had to work not to feel out-classed. 

Mr. Stark didn’t move out of the way. Instead he squinted down like Steve was a tangle of wires he needed to sort out. “You’re that kid they’re going to stick in the machine tomorrow.”

Steve grit his teeth. He was 24. He was just _short_. It wasn’t like Mr. Stark was Paul Robeson; Steve doubted the fella topped five foot nine… some nerve. But it was no good to start a dust-up with a guy that was going to be trying to keep Steve alive tomorrow. “I’m Steve Rogers, yes, sir.”

Casually, Stark smacked him on the shoulder and patted the side of his face. “Good on you.” Startled, Steve blinked and wondered how much whiskey Mr. Stark had enjoyed this evening. Was everyone celebrating tonight but him? As though hearing the thought, Mr. Stark leaned in close to stare Steve in the face. “So what are you doing with your last night… before…?”

 _Your last night._ That was what Mr. Stark meant. “I’m supposed to try and get some sleep.”

The other man laughed, short and sharp. “How many shots of bourbon did they pour into you to accomplish that?”

“None,” Steve admitted ruefully. “It might react poorly with whatever they’re shooting me up with during the procedure.” Even saying that much made him feel a bit like a whiner. He knew he was damn lucky and he wasn't going to bellyache about this.

The look in Stark’s eyes wasn’t pity. Probably just as well. Steve might have started something if there had been pity. Instead, Howard Stark looked like a man confronted with an interesting distraction. “Well, that’s just not fair…” Then Stark had an arm around Steve’s shoulders like they were swell old pals, and he was ushering him along the hallways quickly. “Tell you what, sparky. You and me, we’re going out.”

“I’m not supposed to drink,” Steve reminded him, though not with much force. He knew a bar not far from here. He’d gotten beat up _there_ too.

“Yeah, no drinking. Got it,” Stark agreed. “Kid, never let it be said I didn’t do nothing for you.”

 

And that was how Steve ended up in a brothel.

 

Okay, technically it was a “gaming house,” but Steve wasn’t a total knucklehead. He knew Mr. Stark hadn’t brought him here to gamble. They’d been greeted by a respectable colored woman at the door who took their coats, and they were then led to the _gaming parlor_ where men played cards and ladies came to bring them cigarettes and sit in their laps and blow on their dice. And, now and then, the gentlemen wandered off with the ladies and didn’t come back. A brunette in lavender was sitting in Mr. Stark’s lap, stroking his lapel and smiling like this was fun for her. Steve wondered if it was or if she just wanted a bit tip.

“This is Steven,” Stark told a curvy woman in a nice green dress who had come over to freshen their drinks. “He’s going off to war tomorrow. I thought he ought to have a nice night before he goes.”

And there seemed to be genuine sympathy in the woman’s eyes as she said, “Little thing like you going over there?” Steve’s jaw clenched up. He hated that. He didn’t need sympathy. He needed to prove himself. And no one was going to give him the chance to do that except Dr. Erskine. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said stiffly.

She must have caught that she’d said the wrong thing, because her eyes went all sultry and she ran a hand through his hair. “You’re very brave. Maybe you’ll think about me when you’re over there?”

Part of him very much wanted to take her up on what was on offer. Or, rather, to take Mr. Stark up on it, because he’d be the one footing the bill. Steve had never gotten more than a peck on the lips and a hand under his shirt from a dame, and part of him thought it’d be sort of pathetic if tomorrow the test went bad and he died a virgin. But he also didn’t much like the thought that the only dame he’d ever be with took him to bed because she was _paid_ to do it.

Looking over at Howard Stark, Steve grimaced. “Can we go have a word?”

 

The small room Mr. Stark took him to was well-appointed. A bed that took up most of the square footage, and the smell of Lysol and lye was barely covered up by the smell of perfume. This was a room where the girls worked. Steve looked around briefly, fascinated, then focused on Mr. Stark’s face. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me,” he said, meaning it. Stark was abrasive and overbearing, but this seemed to be coming from a good place.

“But?” Stark asked curiously. Even his brows were well-groomed as they arched dubiously.

“But I don’t think I can do this,” Steve admitted. “I can go downstairs and read a book if you’d like to have a nice night with one of the girls,” he added, because Bucky also warned him about being a wet blanket. No point in spoiling everyone else’s fun. "I want this, but..." He was getting flustered. He needed to just be quiet. "I can't with one of the girls."

Stark just stared at him a long time, then reached back and locked the door. Steve's back went up, on the defensive. He wasn’t about to get punched _tonight_ , was he? Wouldn’t there be questions if Mr. Stark brought him back with purple blotches across his kidneys? But Steve was barely getting his fists up when Mr. Stark took a step forward, put a hand on the side of Steve’s neck and stroked his fingers a little along the skin. Steve’s breath caught, confused and, weirdly, kind of excited. “Ummm,” he managed.

“Not with one of the girls,” Stark said gently. “You could have told me.” Then he leaned in and _kissed_ Steve.

For a moment, Steve’s brain sort of whited out, then he was grabbing at Stark’s suit jacket and tilting his face up, kissing back clumsily, giving it all he got. Stark’s mustache felt funny against his face, a little scratchy and a little greasy with styling product, but boy the man could kiss! Steve’d never really thought it’d be like that with a fella. Yes, he knew plenty of queers. You couldn’t walk a dozen blocks through his neighborhood at night without running across a couple of nancies having at it in an alley. But that wasn’t who _he_ was, was it? Only, why not? It might be a sin to some folk (not to mention illegal as heck), enjoying Mr. Stark tonight like he was a dame, but it’d also be a sin being with a lady that he wasn’t married too, and everyone did that. Even _touching_ himself was a sin. Sometimes you just had to go with your gut, and his gut said Mr. Stark was being a pal and he’d rather have a great night with a pal than with a stranger. 

(Anyway, Stark kept kissing him and it’d sure be spoiling everyone’s fun to stop now.)

And Mr. Stark really liked kissing. He just kept _going_ and going long after Steve was sure they should be either stopping or doing something else. Not sure what to do besides hold on and kiss back, Steve began to let his hands drift, moving from Stark’s chest to his back under the suit jacket and then letting it ruck up so he could touch bare skin. For an area that was not exactly erogenous, touching Stark’s back was strangely exciting. Like _this_ was the moment Mr. Stark might suddenly back away and shout ‘What are you doing, pervert?’ But, of course, he didn’t. He only began tugging up Steve’s t-shirt from out of his trousers, and putting his soft, calloused hands on Steve’s sides and back. 

Somewhere around there was when Steve understood that Stark was giving him the power here, letting Steve set the pace. And Steve was ready for more. Still straining up on tiptoe to keep their mouth together, Steve let his hands slide to the front again so he could attack Stark’s belt. And, yes, Stark was now doing the same for him. Steve hoped that Stark understood how little Steve knew about sex between two men. Or any sex, really. This was already the furthest he’d gone with anyone. As he’d told Agent Carter this morning, dames didn’t line up for a scrawny little swaybacked fella with a beaky nose and asthma. Not that Mr. Stark seemed to mind, not from the way his lips kept moving against Steve’s and the way he was _licking_ Steve’s teeth. Steve’d never realized how sexy be wanted felt. 

With his mouth on another man’s mouth and his hand slipping into another man’s pants, Steve tugged Stark a little toward the bed. He drew back from the kiss long enough to ask, “How long they gonna leave us in here?” Stark locked the door, but Steve didn’t want to get arrested when it opened.

Stark just chuckled and began to let Steve’s uniform pants slip down his flat ass over his thighs, mouth moving from Steve’s mouth to his jaw. “I dropped a C-note in the manager’s hand. Room is ours.” A thumb traced Steve’s hipbone and now Stark was backing _him_ against the bed. “Give me a moment, dollface. I gotta get my shoes off.” There was a smile in his voice and Steve swallowed, nodding. Yeah, he ought to do the same before he tripped over his own pants and broke his face. But it seemed risky, getting _naked_ with another man in a brothel. Then again, the voice of experience was sitting on the side of the bed, getting off shoes and socks with cheerfully brisk movements. 

Instead of fighting about it, Steve got his own boots off and waited in his boxers and t-shirt for Howard Stark to take care of his embarrassing little virginity problem. But Stark didn’t pounce him, just lounged back, half-dressed, eying Steve like a pinup calendar and rubbing a hand up and down his own inner thigh. The bulge in Stark's boxers was damn obvious now. Steve stared at it and tried not to look down at his own lap. He was a little nervous and wasn’t sure how much... lift he had yet. Feeling awkward but not wanting to stop, he suggested, “I could touch it.” 

The idea made his ears redden, but Stark only smiled at him like he’d made the sun rise and agreed, “I’d be real happy if you did.” His thighs fell a little further open, inviting Steve to touch. Steve never could pass up a dare. Shifting forward, Steve put his hand on Stark’s other thigh, sliding up and then slipping in through the slit in the front of Stark’s boxers and… it was weird. Stark’s cock was still just a cock. Steve had touched his own any number of times. Not from this angle, but it was still familiar. Steve knew what to do with an erection in his hand. Working the erection out through the slit in the fabric so he had more space to move about, Steve began working his hand up and down, playing around a bit with the rather _bare_ penis. Even without any foreskin, it slid easily in his hand and Stark made encouraging sounds, easy to read. “Oh, yeah. I like that. Nice and tight, doll. You’re not gonna hurt me….”

Steve squeezed, as Stark said, nice and tight and worked him firmly, only tensing up a little when Stark reached for Steve’s boxers in return. But his hand just rubbed up and down Steve’s thigh, giving him time, not mentioning the lack of a serious bulge. Maybe not noticing? “You’ve done this before?” Steve asked, though it was a stupid question.

Stark smiled, humming when Steve got in a good squeeze and pull combination. “Sure. Don’t worry, doll. It’s easy.”

“Call me Steve?” he suggested, because _doll_ was what you called dames, wasn’t it? Though maybe that was the point. Maybe Stark was imagining a dame with her hand on him. Maybe that was what most of the men who did queer things imagined?

But Stark only said, “Sure thing, Steve. I’d love hearing my name on your lips when you come.”

The idea made Steve go all hot, his hands suddenly a little shaky. But he quickly centered himself again, nodding. Yeah, that sounded fine. “I’d like that, Howard.” Did he stammer? He felt like he was stammering, and right now it was easier to look Stark… Howard in the cock than in the face. 

One of Howard’s hands smoothed through the longer side of Steve’s hair, just petting a little before the man kissed his jaw again. It was… sweet. “You want to taste me?” he suggested to Steve. And that was filthy, but yeah, he kinda did want. If he was maybe gonna die tomorrow, he wanted to do a little living tonight, and he’d never done that before.

Shifting awkwardly, still looking at the erection instead of at Howard’s face, Steve quietly demanded, “Tell me how it goes.”

There was a soft huff of air, maybe a laugh, but Howard didn’t sound like he was laughing when he said, “You get down here and you give it, say, a little lick. And then, if you want, you put your mouth around the tip, and you give it, like, a suck.” Didn’t sound too hard. Assuming Steve’s didn’t have a poorly timed asthma attack, he could do that. Nodding with determination, Steve shifted from sitting up to getting down on his belly on the bed, weight on his bony elbows, so he could get in real close. Not like he hadn’t seen johnsons before; public showers were a common part of daily life through school. But he hadn't look at them this up close and personal, inches from his face. It was a little thicker than his, and a bit curved, and there was the absence of foreskin. He glanced up at that, curious if Stark was a Jew or a chronic self-abuser, but it didn’t seem polite to ask. Instead, he just took it in one fist and uncertainly gave it a lick. 

The response was immediate. Howard moaned softly, his hand bunching in Steve’s hair. “Yeah, sweetheart. Steve…” Well, clearly, he was doing fine, so he did it again, taking a longer lick that time, tracing the big vein on the underside, much to Howard’s obvious enthusiasm. It was easy, and Steve kept at it, licking around like it was a swizzle stick, then he carefully put his mouth over the head. “That’s beautiful, Steve. Just keep your teeth off,” Howard warned. “Teeth can really put a damper on a guy’s enjoyment.” Steve nodded and contorted his mouth a little so only his lips touched. He’d seen a Tijuana bible like this once, of a dame with her mouth on a guy this way. She’d been bobbing her head up and down, though, taking a lot of him into her mouth. (The comic strip hadn’t exactly been _realistic_. The dame had been drawn like Betty Boop and the fella had a johnson about the size of his arm. Still, it wasn’t like Steve had a lot else to go on.) Steve tried taking a little more, letting Howard's cock rub over the top of his tongue nice and slow. Which was easy right until it suddenly wasn’t. The tip of Howard’s cock touched something in the back of Steve’s mouth and Steve almost retched.

“Hey…” Howard stroked Steve's hair and back. “Hey, this is the novice’s class. You don’t need to rush to the advanced lesson. Just take the tip, Steve. Just give it a little suck. Or you can come back up here and let me take care of you for awhile?”

Steve closed his eyes, his hand moving between his legs. His erection still seemed an embarrassingly little thing next to Howard’s. It wasn’t like he wasn’t excited, but with his bad ticker, blood didn’t always go where it needed to. So, instead of answering, he moved back to the tip of Howard’s cock and went to town, sucking and licking and moving his hand on the shaft, much to Howard’s loud appreciation. Howard stroked his back and egged him on while Steve stroked himself. Steve hummed with pleasure as his own erection plumped between his fingers, filling out a little from the direct stimulation. Maybe he should ask Howard to return the favor with his mouth. That was a dirty, delightful idea. He wondered what that mustache would feel like scratching gently against the side of his cock.

“Hey, I’m real close, Steve,” Howard warned. And it probably said something about Steve’s inexperience that it took a minute for him to figure out what that meant. Cluing in, Steve pulled his mouth off Howard’s erection, but kept stroking with his hand while Howard moaned something inarticulate about Steve’s _sinfully gorgeous_ mouth. Flattering as hell. Steve kept moving his hands, stroking Howard and himself in time until Howard’s groans changed pitch and he spilled across the bedclothes.

Panting, Howard kept petting at Steve’s back like he was a dog, looking happy and a little tired. “Now, this doesn’t seem fair,” he said, eying Steve’s hand touching himself. Embarrassed, Steve stopped, though the hand still gripped. “I promised you an exciting night of new experiences and pleasure, and here you are doing all the nice things for me.” Howard let his head drop back and his neck popped, but he was clearly looking around, not just stretching. “Ah!” Howard rolled off to one side and moved across the room in two strides that were surprisingly quick on his feet considering he’d just spilled. He looked a little comical with his penis hanging out the front of his boxers, but he carried it with confidence. Howard knelt next to a plain chest, flipped it open, and pulled out something black and shiny and about as big as his hand. As Howard brandished it about, Steve slowly began to realize what it was. Or, at least, what it was _shaped like_.

“This,” Howard said, waving the rubber erection in the air like a conductor’s baton, “is a bachelor’s friend. I couldn’t help noticing you’re having a little trouble getting it up there.” Before Steve could do anything more than cringe, Howard barreled on. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, you can still have fun here. There are all sorts of ways to help with that. Spanking comes to mind-“ Steve’s eyes went huge, before Howard concluded, “-but I shouldn’t mark you up tonight. So this will do just fine.” He flopped down on the bed next to Steve, setting down the rubber device and a tub of vaseline, before tucking himself away again. “Trust me. I’ve tried it before with one of my girlfriends. Good times all around.”

Steve tried to imagine some blonde dish pushing that shiny black rubber into Howard from behind. It was a little mind-blowing. And not uninspiring. He wanted to ask _Did it hurt?_ , but he didn’t want to be that guy. Instead, he asked, “That thing fits?”

Howard laughed. “Oh, yes. Better take it slow if you don’t do this much-“ Or at all. “-but it’ll fit.” His narrow, calloused hand rested on Steve’s bare thigh and he urged, “Wanna give it a whirl?” Steve was still considering saying no, a little disconcerted by how big it looked and how queer this was, but then Howard said, “Unless you’re scared.”

Steve slugged him lightly in the arm. Then he shucked off his boxers, leaving him in just his t-shirt. “Let’s give it a try.”

At that, Howard looked like Steve had just given him a present. Grinning, he popped open the vaseline jar and tugged one of Steve’s legs up, draping it over one of his shoulders. Surreally, Howard was still in shirtsleeves, tie, and a waistcoat. Though he was sweaty and disheveled, he was even still wearing a _tiepin_. “Just relax,” Howard suggested. “And feel free to touch yourself. Or me.” Then Howard showed off his hand, two fingers shiny with Vaseline, before something bumped at Steve’s… bottom. Steve blasphemed as there was a little pressure and then a stretch. It was weird. Very full. He tried to push it out, but that just seemed to pull Howard’s fingers further in. It did hurt a little, but not enough that he was going to call uncle. 

The fingers pulled away. A little belligerent with disappointment, Steve demanded, “That’s it?” That hadn’t done much for him, though Howard seemed to enjoy it for some reason.

“What?” Howard looked at him like he was crazy, then waved the black rubber _thing_ again. “That was just the opening act.” He pulled Steve’s _other_ leg off the bed onto his shoulder so Steve was wishboned and then pressed the rubbed against his opening. “Breathe out.” Steve did and Howard _pushed_ a little.

Steve yelped despite himself. It was hardly unbearable, but that did ache a little, like his back cramping after rising from too long in bed. Howard petted his calf with the side of a thumb. “I’ll go slow,” he promised. “Why don’t you reach back and feel it. I love that part.”

Considering Howard’s experience with sex, Steve tried it out. He reached around, his fingers bumping against Howard’s, to find the place where the rubber was stretching open his body, the tight seam between flesh and toy. Slowly, he traced it, swallowing as he experimentally got a grip on rubber and gave it a little push himself. Howard sucked in a breath and Steve’s hips rolled. The head of the toy was swallowed by his body. “That,” Howard breathed, “is the sexiest thing I’ve seen all day.”

Steve rolled his eyes and pushed the toy in further and further, finding it easier now. Pushed until he’d pushed it in all the way to the hilt. It was _stimulating,_ anyway. His hips wanted to keep moving and he took Howard’s earlier advice of touching himself with his other hand. “A dame really did this with you?” he asked. It seemed pretty queer, but as he shifted, it also felt damn good. 

“She did,” Howard agreed. His manicured hand rested against Steve’s, tugging and pushing at the rubber device in his body, and the other held Steve’s leg high so Howard could see what he was doing. “You know what else I like?” 

A little suspicious, Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to let you fuck me,” he said, in case Howard had _ideas_.

Howard’s eyes crinkled. “The thought occurred, but I already had my turn. No, I was thinking the other way around.” Steve’s brain skipped a groove, but Howard casually went on. “Just… stay like that a minute.” His hand stopped toying with the thing in Steve and he reached for the Vaseline again. Only this time, it wasn’t Steve he was greasing up. Instead, his hand slipped under the back waistband of his boxers and started moving around. He was getting himself all wet so Steve could fuck him. _Howard Stark_ , a handsome millionaire who invented flying cars, was about to let Steve fuck him. Steve stroked himself and stared like a total dope until Howard shoved his boxers down, urged Steve to scoot up the bed so he could rest against the pillows, and then the man simply climbed onto Steve’s lap, all prepared to screw himself down onto Steve’s cock, easy as you please.

“I’ve never done this!” Steve squeaked, eyes huge and face hot. It wasn’t ‘stop’ or even ‘slow down.’ He just felt like Howard needed to know that Steve had no idea what he was doing here.

Howard grinned a little, all roguish charm. “First time for everything, dollface.” He gripped Steve in one hand and braced himself with the other. Steve couldn’t do anything but grip Howard’s thighs and stare. Then he was pressed inside and Steve’s eyes rolled back while his hips thrust up. Howard grunted and shoved and urged Steve, “Yeah, not about to make you wait, kid. Go on. Give me all you got. Live it up.”

If Steve hadn’t been balls deep in another person for the first time ever, he probably would have questioned some of that, but his ass was stretched full and he was having sex for the first time. He was already starting to feel like he could come in three thrusts flat. Instead of speaking, Steve _keened_. Every time he drove his hips back and forward, the rubber device in his ass felt like it was fucking him up the ass while he was fucking Howard. And Howard had planted his hands on either side of Steve’s body, moving himself, setting the pace. Even though it was Steve inside Howard, Steve felt like it was the other way around: _him_ getting pounded into the mattress by Howard. From Howard's half-lidded eyes, he was having a damn fine time. 

Steve didn’t even see it coming when his body lost it. He spent inside Howard with a soft shriek of surprise that made Howard laugh, and he groaned when Howard didn’t slow down one bit. Steve gripped a little frantically at Howard’s thighs as he began to grow over-sensitized. “Hey. Hey, hey…”

“Best you’ll ever have,” Howard said smugly, settling low against Steve’s lap and grinding down, pressing the rubber in even deeper. Steve moaned and glared up at him.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said a little snappishly, shoving a little at Howard’s thighs, then hesitating. “Should… I be…” He knew so little about bed etiquette and he didn’t want to be awful. “Can you… finish like this?”

Howard smiled and stroked Steve’s hair before leaning in for another long, lingering kiss, unconcerned where Steve had put his mouth. “Eventually. But not quite this soon. Trust me, between the fellatio and the lovely pédérastie, I didn’t get the short end of the stick here.” Slowly, getting in a few last grinds, he slowly moved up off of Steve, cock bobbing a little despite his words.

Steve lay there, sore and spent and a little overwhelmed. Was that French? The what and the what? He didn’t ask, though, eager not to look even more inexperienced. “Glad you had a good time.” He meant it too. It had been, for the most part, pretty incredible for Steve. He reached behind himself, gripping the base of the rubber thing and awkwardly working it out of his body. Then he stared for long moments. It was huge. He’d let Howard put _that_ in him? Steve quickly hid the black rubber thing under the pillow like that would keep people from knowing what they’d done in here. Steve was painfully aware he hadn’t been as quiet as he probably ought to have been. 

Howard was already getting back into his clothes, smoothing down his tie and trousers. Steve, limpingly, hurried to get his own pants back on. too. Howard, seemingly unconcerned, patted him on the shoulder. “We should probably get you back to your bed before the SSR notices I borrowed their lab rat.”

He wasn’t wrong. It had to be awfully late. Still, if this was the last night of Steve’s life, at least he’d squeezed in a little living. “I’m ready.” And if his life didn't end with the morning, maybe he and Howard could talk about a repeat performance.

**Author's Note:**

> Re-watching CA:TFA I realize that the scene with Erskine is before they go to Brooklyn. Oops. So consider this story a slight AU.
> 
> (By the way, in case you were dying to know, here are a set of the bachelor’s friends, aka "dialators," that Howard borrowed. Yes, of course, they’re butt plugs, but you couldn’t legally sell sex toys thanks to decency laws. So… *hem* medical devices.  
> If I die, erase my browser history, because I spent a lot of time looking up historical sex toys. I would have worked a vibrator in if I could because, omg, historical vibrators... Also, [the history of early 20th century prostitution](http://www.oldmagazinearticles.com/1930s_PROSTITUTE#.XAmptBNKi8p) is really interesting, but Steve wasn't in the mood to talk about it.)


End file.
